


The World Still Spins

by lecrivaineanonyme



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Break Up, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mentions of Infidelity (none actually occurs), Misunderstandings, excessive physics and ocean metaphors, post-Samwell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12733812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecrivaineanonyme/pseuds/lecrivaineanonyme
Summary: Justin had first learned about the theory of paradigm shifts back in junior year during his class on the history and philosophy of science. It was just another definition for one of the short answers in the midterm exam:a fundamental change in the basic concepts of and experimental practices within a given scientific discipline.It was a benign factoid to be stored away, something to be revisited in a later essay:compare and contrast the views of Thomas Kuhn and Karl Popper on the scientific process.He hadn’t understood just howjarringsuch a fundamental shift could be until he broke up with Adam.





	The World Still Spins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consultingclassicist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingclassicist/gifts).



> I started this fic several months ago, intending it to be a short prompt fill for a friend. Somehow, it morphed into a fully-fledged story requiring a beta, so I ended up asking my friend to beta her own gift, because I am simultaneously a wonderful and terrible friend. I keep being surprised when my drabbles expand, as if I haven’t been waving at page limits in the rearview mirror for years. 
> 
> As such, this fic is dedicated to consultingclassicist, prompter, friend, cheerleader, and beta-er extraordinaire. You are wonderful and amazing and deserve only good things. Thanks for the initial prompt, beta-ing your own fic, encouraging me, putting up with a multitude of flailing texts, and convincing me that I’m a half-decent writer. And for just being a pretty great friend. 
> 
> Thanks also to abominableobriens, another lovely and A+ individual who kindly beta'ed and cheerleaded as well!
> 
> Title comes from Hamilton: "But the sun comes up and the world still spins."

Justin had first learned about the theory of paradigm shifts back in junior year during his class on the history and philosophy of science. It was just another definition for one of the short answers in the midterm exam: _a fundamental change in the basic concepts of and experimental practices within a given scientific discipline._ It was a benign factoid to be stored away, something to be revisited in a later essay: _compare and contrast the views of Thomas Kuhn and Karl Popper on the scientific process._

He hadn’t understood just how _jarring_ such a fundamental shift could be until he broke up with Adam.

For six years, it had been the two of them against the world. They were Oluransi and Birkholtz, greatest defensive pair the Samwell Men’s Hockey team and the ECAC had ever seen. They were Ransom and Holster, hockey bros and kegster planners extraordinaire. They were Holtzy and Ransypoo, insta-friends and best bros for life. They were Adam and Justin, who finally realized they didn’t want to be with anyone but  each other and started dating at the end of senior year, who moved up to Boston after graduation and started a life together.

Now they were over, and Justin felt anchorless, adrift in a sea of uncertainty and unfamiliarity.

It wasn’t that Justin didn’t have a life outside his relationship with Adam. For as much as they were attached at the hip, they still had their own interests. Adam had his tabletop gaming group and Game of Thrones watch parties, while Justin had his photography, his study group, and golfing buddies.

But for so long, Adam had been an integral part of his life, first as his best bro and then his boyfriend. They were inseparable, partners on and off the ice. Justin struggled to remember a time where Adam wasn’t one of the most important people in his life, where they weren’t a team, supporting each other in everything they did. And now he was gone.

It was a fundamental change in the framework of Justin Oluransi’s reality. A paradigm shift.

 _Get out of your head_ , he scolded himself as he knocked on their - _Adam’s_ \- apartment door. _You need to be rational right now_. He took a deep breath as the door opened.

Adam had gone full Belichick, wearing an old raggedy pair of sweatpant cut-offs and a Falconers hoodie. His face was covered with stubble and his glasses were crooked. “‘Lo,” he muttered, turning to walk into the living room. “I got your suitcases from storage.”

“Thanks,” Justin said, flatly. He followed Adam inside as if on autopilot, carefully shutting the door behind him. The apartment looked mostly the same, except for about three days’ worth of takeout containers on the kitchen counter. His suitcases were neatly stacked by the end of the overstuffed sofa they’d found thrifting during their first week in Boston. It was the only one they’d found that was long enough for Adam to stretch out on.

“Want coffee or anything?” Adam asked stiffly, jerking his head at the battered coffeemaker on the counter.

“No, thanks though,” Justin replied. It took every ounce of strength he had not to turn around and walk out the door to escape the tension. It had never been difficult to talk to Adam. Now, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

But there was _so much_ left to be said. Questions like _why_ , and _what did I do wrong_ and _how could you do this to me_. _Did the last six years mean anything you?_ They hung in the air, like a suffocating fog.

“‘Kay. I’ll just be in the office,” Adam said, shuffling down the hall.

Justin sighed, grabbed the duffle on top of the pile and headed to their - _Adam’s_ \- bedroom. He had to start somewhere.

Opening the door, Justin felt the air leave his lungs the way it did after being slammed into the boards. The old _Penitus Potes!_ banner hung over the dresser they’d gotten at Ikea and assembled their first night in the apartment. Their graduation portrait and team photo of the SMH sat on top of the dresser in cheap plastic frames picked up on a Walmart run. The bed was unmade, with several pillows missing and the blue-striped duvet rumpled up where Justin had left it three nights before.

Justin closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. _In two three, out two three_.

He stepped over to their closet, opened the door, and robotically began to pull out his clothes, ignoring the tears pricking in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

It had all started when Adam ran into Esther Shapiro at the grocery store.

“She’s cut her hair,” he’d told Justin as they ate dinner. “And dyed it seafoam green. Seafoam green! And it _works_ for her? I told her we’d take her out for drinks if she was ever up in our neighborhood and wanted to catch up.”

“Sounds great,” Justin had replied. “She doesn’t post much on Facebook, so I have no clue what she’s up to. Hard to be the networking king when she doesn’t use the network.” He’d smiled at Adam. “It’d be s’wawesome to see her again.”

Adam had beamed, shoveled more mashed potatoes in his mouth, and changed to subject to the Knicks’ disastrous losing streak.

That’s when everything began to change.

Adam started to close himself off. Detailed dinner discussions of client meetings became vague “oh, just lunch with a new client, no big.” He started receiving random phone calls in the evenings, which he explained away with an easy “the new client is _super_ needy, sorry babe,” followed by a whispered conversation as Adam padded down the hall to their office, the door shutting with a click.

It was so unlike Adam to withhold anything from Justin; they were the Lily and Marshall of their friend group, texting each other at lunch to share what they were eating that day. Justin got live updates from particularly horrendous meetings. There wasn’t an office drama at the consulting firm or a conversation with a funny cashier that Adam didn’t thoroughly report complete with exaggerated facial expressions and a variety of voices.

A withdrawn Adam was a troubled Adam. But every time Justin had tried to reach out and ask what was wrong, he’d been brushed off. Adam would smile his toothy grin, kiss Justin’s cheek, and say, “S’all good, man. Nothing to worry about.”

The thought that Adam might be hiding something - an affair, some shady business dealings at the consulting firm, whatever - was enough to make Justin feel ill. But he didn’t want to assume the worst without concrete evidence. After all, it sometimes took Adam awhile to open up about what was bothering him; he was a master of disguising his feelings under his larger-than-life personality.  So Justin waited, mentally tallying odd phone calls and client lunches.

Not trusting Adam went against every fiber of Justin’s being. They’d had each other’s backs for so long that Justin didn’t remember a time in their relationship, platonic or romantic, where he hadn’t trusted Adam implicitly. Each new tally caused a wave of nausea, but keeping track was steadying, an anchor of normalcy in otherwise uncharted waters. Perhaps if he waited long enough, he would understand the pattern and everything would make sense. There would be a perfectly rational explanation. There had to be. He just had to find it.

He never did.

 

* * *

 

The sudden buzzing of his phone jerked Justin out of his thoughts. Balling the sweater in his hands, he hastily shoved it in the duffle bag before retrieving the iPhone from his pocket.

“Hey Shits,” he answered, trying to keep a steady voice.

“Hey champ, how’s it going?” Shitty’s voice cackled with static. “You make it to the apartment okay?”

Justin sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s...it’s going.”

“Did you talk to him?” Shitty asked. “Brah, I know it’s not my place to meddle but this is just so not like Holster.”

“I’ve been trying to talk to him for two months,” Justin snapped, immediately regretting his tone. “Fuck, Shits, I’m sor-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Shitty cut in. “Shit’s fucked up right now, and I’m being hella nosy instead of being supportive. D’you need me to come and help you pack? You say the fucking word and I’m there.”

“Thanks, Shitty,” Justin said. “I’m okay for now, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. Just keep me posted, brah. Lardo’s gonna pick up some quality-ass beer for us after work and your sister sent me a jollof recipe to try.”

Justin felt the tears begin to prick his eyes again. “You got it bro,” he said.   

He ended the call and pocketed his phone with a sigh before reaching for another sweater in the closet.

 

* * *

 

The final straw had been opening their latest bank statement and finding a six hundred dollar charge for two plane tickets to Vegas and a three hundred dollar charge at a jewelry store.

Justin prided himself on being a logical thinker most of the time. He wasn’t devoid of irrationality, like that Spork character Adam sometimes went on about, but he could keep a cool head. It had served him well on the ice. There were several logical explanations for the charges. Adam could have booked them a Vegas weekend and bought them matching “Baller Time” pocket watches like they had joked about. There might be an upcoming consulting conference at the Vegas Convention Center and Adam had picked up his cousin’s bat mitzvah gift early. All plausible.

But through the cloud of anxiety, all Justin could see was Adam running away with somebody to Vegas for a quickie wedding. Maybe with that cute barista named Troy who made the best PSLs at the coffee shop. Maybe with Esther Shapiro. It could be with anybody. And it terrified him.

Adam had found Justin curled up in their bed, clutching a pillow, a steady stream of tears pouring down his face.

Zipping the duffle closed, Justin sank down on the bed with a sigh, replaying the ensuing fight in his mind, the way he had every night for the past three days. Adam had stood by the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets, while Justin had stood by the edge of the bed.

_“So all those calls and lunch meetings were with Esther Shapiro?” Justin felt as if his eyes were popping out of his head._

_“Yes, but I promise you, nothing is going on between us,” Adam said earnestly. “Justin, you know I would_ **_never_ ** _-”_

 _“No,” Justin interrupted. “That’s the point, Adam, I don’t_ **_know_ ** _anything anymore. You haven’t told me anything for weeks.”_

_“Justin, I swear, I am NOT cheating on you with Esther,” Adam insisted. “We hooked up once at Samwell and that was it, I promise.”_

_“Then what WERE you doing?” Justin demanded._

_Adam paled. “I can’t tell you.”_

_“Why?” Justin challenged. “What possible reason is there that you can’t tell me? God Adam, if they were just lunches, you could have just told me, and it would have been fine!”_

_“I just_ **_can’t_** _,” Adam said, wringing his hands. “Trust me, you’ll understand soon, I promise.”_

 _“This isn’t like you, Adam,” Justin said, chest heaving. “We tell each other everything. We always have. You’ve been sneaking around and keeping secrets and it’s_ **_not_ ** _like you._

_“Justin…” Adam’s voice quavered, eyes beginning to glisten. “Justin, please…”_

_“And you bought PLANE TICKETS without telling me?! I don’t need to know about every dime you spend, but you have to tell me when you drop six hundred dollars on plane tickets! TO FUCKING LAS VEGAS OF ALL PLACES.”_

_“I know, I’m sorry! I just need you to trust me,” Adam pleaded. “Please, Justin.”_

_“I can’t.” Justin felt his heart snap in two as Adam’s face crumbled. “I’m sorry, but I can’t!”_

An hour later, Justin had stuffed a few things in a backpack and left, dialing Shitty’s number with shaking hands as the world shifted on its axis.

* * *

 

Justin’s hockey socks were missing.

Not that he played much these days - being a med student was a full time job in and of itself - but he was still weirdly possessive of the Falconer-themed hockey socks that Jack had given him when he was made co-captain of the SMH. They were special. Grumbling, Justin pulled out Adam’s hockey bag.

Adam had a habit of mixing up their socks, putting Justin’s pair back in his own bag and his pair in Justin’s bag. He insisted that the socks were identical, but Justin knew better. Adam’s giant feet had stretched his socks beyond recognition, and Justin had no intention of letting his own be ruined. Unzipping Adam’s bag, he began rummaging around, pausing when his hand brushed against something velvet. He closed his hand around the object and  it and pulled it out of the bag.  

It was a small velvet box. Justin sucked in a few quick breaths and opened it with trembling fingers. Inside sat a silver ring. Three diamonds were set in a diagonal line in the center, framed by a row of smaller blue diamonds extending towards the top and bottom of the band on either side.

Justin let himself sit back, taking several deep breaths as he closed his eyes.

It was an engagement ring. Adam had been going to propose. To him.

 _Or to someone else_ he thought. But this was not a ring for Esther Shapiro. Esther had small hands and her favorite color was yellow. A ring for Esther Shapiro would be smaller than this one, set in rose gold and have yellow diamond accents.  This ring, with its deep blue stones and sleek modern design, was a ring for Justin Oluransi.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t talked about it. Adam kept a wedding inspiration Pinterest board and Justin had been perfecting the world’s greatest wedding reception playlist for years. They’d made it pretty clear to each other that they were in it for the long haul. They’d get married one day, when Adam was no longer the most junior consultant and when Justin didn’t have quite as much studying to do.

But if Adam had been going to propose, why hadn’t he said anything? Why had he been acting less like his usual self? Why had he closed himself off from Justin?

They needed to talk.

Closing the ring box and clutching it in his fist, Justin stood up and made his way to the office, blood pounding in his ears.

 

* * *

 

His phone wouldn't stop buzzing that first night at Shitty and Lardo’s.

_Please come back_

_I can explain everything, just come home_

_I’m so sorry, please come home_

_Justin, I’m sorry. Please._

The image of Adam huddled alone in the apartment, sending text after text, had Justin  second-guessing his decision to leave. All he’d wanted was an explanation, right? So he should go and hear Adam out.

He just wasn’t sure he was ready to hear whatever explanation Adam had. In fact, he wasn’t sure that there _was_ an explanation that he would be willing to accept.

“Sleep on it,” Lardo had advised, handing him a fluffy blanket. “Stay here and sleep on it. Decide tomorrow.”

“Don't respond yet,” Shitty had added. “Emotions are running high now, brah. You both just need some space and some sleep.”

So Justin had set his phone to silent, curled up on the couch and tried to sleep. After several sleepless hours, Justin gave into temptation and checked it, bright lights making him squint in the darkness.

_Please tell me you are safe, wherever you are_

_I love you, I’m sorry_

Finally, Justin let himself tap out a reply, shoving the phone in his backpack when he finished before settling back on the couch.

_I’m safe._

 

* * *

 

The home office was a disaster. Adam had clearly holed up in here, rather than sleep in their bedroom after Justin had left. Various shirts and sweatpants littered the floor and the trash can next to the desk was filled with crumpled up tissues.

Adam was stretched out on the daybed, staring at the ceiling. He’d wrapped himself in the blanket knitted for him by his grandmother, his iPod resting on the bed next to his hip.

“Adam.”

Adam didn’t respond, continuing to stare at the ceiling.

“Adam,” Justin repeated, rapping his knuckles on the doorframe. “ _Adam_.”

Finally, Adam sat up, pulling out his earbuds. “Yeah?”

“I think we need to talk about this,” Justin said, holding out the ring box and taking a tentative step into the room.

Adam’s eyes widened as they fell on the box. “What were you doing in my gear bag?” he demanded.

“Making sure you hadn’t swiped my hockey socks,” Justin shot back. “But that’s not the point.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Adam, were you-“

“Yes,” Adam said shortly, staring down at his hands. “I was.”

 _Oh shit_.

He hadn't expected the confirmation of his suspicions to hit him as hard as it did. Justin opened and closed his mouth several times, willing himself to break the suffocating silence that had fallen in the room. “To...to me?” he asked weakly. He already knew the answer.

“Of course to you,” Adam replied. “Why else would I have a ring in your size?”

“But...all those secret calls and lunch dates with Esther.” Justin’s head was starting to spin as his mind began reassembling the past two months with new information. “What was that about?”

“She’s an event planner,” Adam said, twisting the blanket in his hands. “She helped me book Faber and we were organizing a surprise engagement party.”

“And the plane tickets to Vegas?” Justin felt light-headed.

“For us,” Adam answered. “The Falconers are playing the Aces, and Jack got us tickets as a pre-engagement gift.”

Justin took a step backward, steadying himself against the door frame as everything clicked into place. He’d been wrong. So very, very wrong.  

“I’m sorry,” Justin breathed. His throat was tight as he blinked back tears. “Adam, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

In a flash, Adam had crossed the room and pulled Justin into his arms, making soothing noises.  “I’ve got you, babe,” he said softly, rubbing a hand down Justin’s back. “I’ve got you.”

“I fucked up,” Justin mumbled into Adam’s neck, fingers curling into his hoodie. “I fucked up so bad, this shitshow is all my fault. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor-”

“It’s not all your fault,” Adam cut him off gently. “It’s not, you had every right to be upset with me.”  
  
“I should have trusted you,” Justin said, fresh tears falling. “You’ve planned this big surprise and I accused you of _cheating_ , oh my God…”

“Justin, I was making secret phone calls,” Adam said, arms tightening around Justin. “And meeting up with people for secret lunches. What were you supposed to think?”

“I was supposed to trust you,” Justin argued. “That’s what partners _do_ , Adam.”

“Partners also know how to take care of each other,” Adam replied. “I fucked this up, Justin. I got so involved in planning the surprise that I didn’t even think about how weird I was acting.” His voice was thick. “I know better than anyone how your anxiety can spiral, and I let you down. I gave you reasons to be anxious. Lots of reasons. That’s not right.”

“You can’t stop me from being anxious,” Justin sniffed. “You know that.”

“I know,” Adam agreed. “But I know certain things can set it off, and I wanna avoid doing that.” He pressed a kiss to Justin’s temple. “I don’t ever want to give you reasons to be anxious. I’m sorry, babe."

They stood there for a few moments, holding each other until their tears dried and their breathing slowed.

“Where do we go from here?” Justin finally asked, breaking the silence.  

“You could come home,” Adam suggested hesitantly. “I mean, if you want to. I totally understand if you don’t, though.”

Justin straightened to look at Adam’s face. “Home,” he said, gently cupping Adam’s face, “sounds really good.”

 

* * *

 

There was something mesmerizing about the ring.

Justin wasn’t much of a jewelry man. He had his watch his father had given him when he graduated from Samwell, a few sets of cufflinks, some douchey pukka shell necklaces from various beach trips, a giant bag of Mardi Gras beads, and that was about it. But there was something about this ring that had him opening the box later that night and staring at it while Adam slept next to him.

Maybe it was the fact that the stones looked like a stylized _S_. S for Samwell, S for s’wawesome. Maybe it was the stones themselves, how they sparkled when they caught the fluorescent light of the bedside lamp. Maybe it was the fact that his boyfriend had dropped three hundred dollars on a piece of jewelry. Justin wasn’t sure.

If he stared at it long enough, he might figure it out.

“D’you like it?”

Justin startled, dropping the velvet box on the floor. He heard a snort from behind him and rolled over to face Adam, whose eyes were closed and face was still mashed into the pillow. “Like what?” he asked.

“The ring, man,” Adam mumbled. “D’you like the ring?”

“Oh.” Justin felt his cheeks warm. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it’s beautiful, babe.”

“It’s yours if you want it,” Adam said, blinking his eyes open. “I mean, we can still do a big proposal if you want, with the kickass party afterwards. Or you can have it now. But if you don’t want-”

“I do,” Justin interrupted. “I do want it, Adam.”

Adam’s eyes lit up. “Really?” he asked nervously. “You - you still -”

“‘Course I do,” Justin said, reaching out to touch Adam’s face, thumb brushing across his cheekbone. “I love you.”

“It seems wrong to keep the original plan, though.” Adam bit his lip. “Since it got us into this mess in the first place.”

“Then let’s plan our engagement party together,” Justin suggested. “I mean, the sickest parties ever have been the ones we planned together, right? So we’ll build off what you and Esther started.” He smiled at Adam, continuing to move his thumb across Adam’s cheek. “You can propose however you want. Whenever you want.”

Adam smiled his dopey, sleepy smile. “You have the best plans, Rans,” he mumbled. “Y’always did. S’why you got the 4.0.”

“I try.” Justin reached over and flicked off the light before snuggling up against his boyfriend. “G’night, Adam.”

 

_-Three Weeks Later-_

 

In the three days they had been apart, Adam had apparently thrown away several things in an attempt to process his feelings. The mismatched collection of Tupperware had been gone through, as had the expired canned goods, the broken umbrella, Adam’s holey “synagogue sneakers,” and the giant stash of fortune cookies from night after night of takeout. All were things that Justin thought deserved to be trashed, anyway. The collection of straws from late-night McDonald’s runs had been getting out of hand.

Somehow, the janky coffeemaker had survived the purge.

Justin had loathed the contraption ever since they’d brought it home from the thrift store. They’d gotten it as a cheap stopgap until they had time to research decent models. “You’re gonna be in med school, babe,” Adam had said. “You’ll need quality coffee.”

Two years later, and Justin was still drinking the same gritty coffee he’d been drinking since they moved to Boston.

“Okay, you piece of crap,” Justin muttered as he changed the filter. “Let’s see if we can make _real_ coffee today.”

“Talkin’ to the coffeepot again?”

Justin turned. Adam was standing in the doorway, his glasses and a fond, sleepy smile on his face.

“Bitty talks to his oven, I talk to the coffeepot,” Justin replied. He turned back to the coffeemaker, which had begun to drip. “Clearly, he’s the more successful appliance-whisperer.”

Adam made his way over, wrapping his arms around Justin’s waist and resting his head on Justin’s shoulder. “I dunno about that,” he mumbled. “Coffee smells good.”

“It does not, it smells like burnt motor oil,” Justin replied, turning slightly to kiss Adam’s cheek.

“Any coffee you make smells good to me,” Adam replied.

“Sap.” The coffee began to drip more steadily. “We’ll need a better coffeemaker before I start studying for board exams.”

“Anything for you, babe.” Adam pressed a scratchy kiss to Justin’s neck before sitting at the table.

“You’re gonna regret that when I pick out the fanciest coffeemaker ever,” Justin said. “Not that you can’t afford it on your salary, but you might have to settle for caviar only once a week for awhile.”

“Done.”

“And I want to get a reservation at Menton,” Justin continued, reaching for the mugs in the dishrack. “You know, that swanky restaurant on Congress? They have a truffle week in November. We should totally go.”

“Anything for you, darling,” Adam drawled. “You shall have all the truffles your heart desires.”

“And while we’re at it, I’ve been thinking that we should get a car,” Justin said. “I mean, I know the T is the shit and parking is hella expensive, but I just really want a car. For my doctor aesthetic.”

“That might be pushing it,” Adam replied, grinning. “I’m not sure even _I_ can do that.”

“Well, what good are you?” Justin said in mock frustration as Adam started to laugh. “I mean, really. It’s just a car, Adam. All the other med students have cars!”

“You gotta marry me, man.”

Justin froze, hand hovering next to the coffeepot. “What’s that, babe?” he asked, turning to face Adam.

Adam had taken off his glasses and was wiping his eyes, still stifling giggles. “I said you gotta marry me, man.”

“So are you, like, proposing?” Justin said, small smile creeping onto his face. “Like, right now?”

“Nope, not ye-OH SHIT.” Adam’s eyes went wide as he realized what he’d said. “Birkholtz, you fucking knucklehead…”

“So you just proposed on accident?” Justin asked. It was his turn to stifle his snickers.  

“I HAD A PLAN,” Adam wailed, thunking his head on the table. “I HAD A PLAN, RANS. I HAD A PLAN AND I RUINED YOUR PROPOSAL. AGAIN." 

Justin sat next to Adam and gently rested a hand on Adam’s head. “You can still do your plan,” he said. “But just so you know, this is a pretty good proposal, too. You didn’t ruin anything.”

“Nope.” Justin pulled his hand out of the way as Adam jumped up from the table, heading to the office. “I can still fix this. I CAN STILL FIX THIS.”

“There’s nothing to fix!” Justin called after him, wincing as he heard the sound of boxes falling from the office closet. “You okay?”

“FINE.” Adam emerged from the office with his phone, the ring box, and a candle. “Everything will be fine, just gimme two seconds.”

“Is that...is that a Sun-Ripened Raspberry candle?” Justin asked, wrinkling his nose as Adam set the pinkish candle on the table and lit it. “From Bath and Body Works?”

“Maybe?” Adam replied, putting the lighter back in the drawer. “Found it in our closet at the Haus when we moved in? Those sorority girls must’ve left it behind.”

“Dude, it smells like my auntie’s bathroom in the ‘90s,” Justin groaned.

“I’ll blow it out in a few minutes,” Adam replied. “Let me just find the right song….”

“Adam, you don’t have to do this,” Justin protested. Adam ignored him, continuing to fiddle with his phone until the sound of Jesse McCartney’s “Beautiful Soul” started filling the room. Justin felt his face heating; he was ashamed of how much he loved this song, but the early 2000s had such _good_ pop music. “You already asked, it was fine just how it was.”

“No,” Adam said stubbornly. He set his phone on the table and turned to face Justin. “I gotta do this part right.” He pulled out the ring, took a deep breath as he sank down on one knee, and held it out to Justin with a shaking hand. “Justin Oluransi...will you marry me?”

Justin stared at Adam’s face for a long moment.

Adam, whose smile was infectious and who made him laugh harder than anyone else. Adam, who loved hard and was fiercely loyal to those he loved most. Adam, who shouted just as much at _Project Runway_ as he did at NHL games. Adam, who sometimes played his music too loud while Justin was studying, occasionally left the dishes out too long and often put the empty milk jug back in the fridge. Adam, who had been his partner in one way or another for six years.

Three weeks ago, Justin would have given anything for things to go back to how they had been before their separation. He had thought being engaged would do just that; only then would he stop worrying that he had lost his chance, that Adam would reconsider.

Staring into Adam’s eyes, Justin realized that being engaged wouldn’t make their relationship go back to the way it was before. Nothing would. Being engaged would be another paradigm shift, another change in the framework of their reality.

But this was a shift Justin could handle.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed, a smile spreading across his face. “Of course I will, Adam.”

Adam’s face lit up. He barely had a chance to slide the ring on Justin’s finger before Justin hauled him to his feet by his collar for a kiss.

“I-I bought a chain,” Adam said when they broke apart, fumbling with the box. “So you can wear it around your neck when you go to the hospital for residency and stuff.”

Justin took the box from Adam’s hands and set it on the table. “You can show me later,” he said, giving Adam another kiss. “First, let’s celebrate by going out for dece coffee, yeah?”

Adam smiled, threading their fingers together. “Sounds perfect.”

This was definitely a new paradigm, Justin thought, acutely aware of the ring on his finger as they walked down the street, hand-in-hand in the bright morning sun. Their relationship, their reality as a couple was going to change. But this change didn’t feel jarring, like their breakup had been; rather, it felt _centering_ , as if the world had suddenly righted itself.

As long as they worked together, the world would still spin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Facts:  
> -Holster's "synagogue sneakers" are a tribute to my athletic cousin, who often joked about his battered pair of "church shoes" he sometimes wore. "Because they're holey!"  
> -The song chosen for Holster's proposal was the subject of intense agony, but "Beautiful Soul" ended up being the best mix of sincerity and cheesy 2000's pop. Maroon 5's "Sunday Morning" was runner up out of several other options.  
> -Justin's ring is this [one](http://www.kay.com/en/kaystore/r6-rings-101488--1/mens-wedding-ring-1-5-ct-tw-diamonds-sterling-silver)  
> -I really love Karl Popper and was so happy to be able to use him in a fic.  
> -I now have a lot of feelings about Justin taking history and philosophy of science courses (and about Justin in general).
> 
> This fic has been such a labor of love - thank you so much for reading it! I do hope you've had as much fun reading it as I have had writing it. Feedback is always appreciated. 
> 
> I have a writing Tumblr if you want to say hi or nerd out about Check Please! Come find me at lecrivaineanonyme.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks again for reading!!


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